fatherfig

The children who died are ghosts. They wander what used to be the school. One of

living their short lives flowers bud and they blossom without worldly care

your house im traveling down a street that i dont know there are no hands for me here nothing to hold there are no lights even though the light is ...

washing over time tears dont erode our hardly buried memories

my shivering trees covered by blankets of sun the wind can't chill them

blowing in the wind hopes know where they need to fly so they land softly

fueled by raging fire fathers hands glide over and softly steady mine

lost in the shadows times i embraced taken, plucked like cherry blossoms

to reach what's beyond the saplings leaves stretch upwards glistening with dew

perhaps ev'ryone who sees raindrop plagued trees sees fairies reflected

Last year I managed fifty poems. I want sixty this year.

in the small creases of mother nature's mind's eye turbulence stands still

It would look nice with color

You know your a writer when after writing you look back and think "I could've written that better."

Truthing or Daring bad vibes are inevititable we'll have them no matter what grey skies are unbelievable constant rain and some rust if your car still has a bumper it ...